Nacht skipped from mirror to mirror, flitting through possible futures until he found himself in the shattered shards of a broken window. He examined the remains of this long-abandoned farmhouse. The scene was peaceful, quiet. An empty home hung thick in dusty cobwebs, about to fall in on itself. Looking out the other side of his window, he saw the rocky mud fields of Gottlos. The sky hung low, ominous clouds threatening rain. No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up here.
Were there no other possible futures?
It doesn’t make sense. If there was one thing a Reflection knew, it was that the future was never fixed. How could the combined choices of all those involved, Morgen, Bedeckt, Stehlen, Wichtig, Konig, Failure, and fifteen thousand Geborene soldiers, all end at one place? Could this be the work of Bedeckt’s Mirrorist? No, she can’t be that powerful. Was there another power at work, did the elder gods—or whoever enforced the rules of reality—have a vested interest in the outcome of this mad little power struggle? Why would they? This was nothing new, nothing that hadn’t happened a thousand times before.
Nacht looked back through the possible futures, seeing thousands of nested reflections as if turning two mirrors to face one another. This farmhouse lay less than a week away.
The rickety door on the far side of the farmhouse slammed open and Nacht was back in Selbsthass. He never got to see who entered or what happened next.
While the future was never truly fixed, he was accustomed to seeing countless possible outcomes. This inability to see past one moment twisted his stomach with fear. Could there be no future beyond that, or was some other Mirrorist blocking him? How powerful—how near the Pinnacle—would they have to be to do that? If that was the case, they’d be gone soon enough, removed from contention.
Should I try and lead Morgen elsewhere?
No, there was too much of what Nacht wanted on this path. The garrison at the Gottlos border, the battle at Unbrauchbar. Mud and filth and stained white Geborene robes. Madness and chaos and violence. All of it would push Morgen to embrace his obsessions, driving him ever closer to the Pinnacle. The Geborene god would become what he loathed.
And if I did manage to move him somewhere else, I’d be blind. Nacht saw no other options, no other futures. This might or might not be the only future, but it offered everything he desired. His inability to see beyond it scared him. He felt like he sprinted toward an impenetrable bank of fog.
This future breaks Morgen, and I will chance the unknown. If everyone else lived that way, unable to see even a few minutes into the future, then he could too. He wished he could see the moment the godling actually snapped. It must lay beyond that farmhouse.
Nacht would bide his time. With Morgen dethroned from his own mind, his Reflection would wrestle control from the obsessive little shite. He’d wield Morgen’s power as it was meant to be used. Decay and chaos, death and destruction. These things were natural. Cleanliness and perfection could never last. Morgen’s theocracy was doomed. By embracing everything Morgen was not, Nacht would build the Geborene into something lasting.
When I am real, when I have taken all Morgen is and made it mine, nothing will stop me. No god or Mirrorist will stand in my way.
CHAPTER FOUR
Those whom you slay must serve in the Afterdeath. Gather yourself an army of dead for what awaits is endless war.
— The Warrior’s Credo (Verschlinger version)
The consequences of his death and a lifetime of ill-thought choices chased Wichtig east. One ever-shrinking step ahead of his last bad decision, he rode toward Selbsthass City, home to the Geborene Damonen Theocracy and the god who killed him.
Wichtig’s horse, a grey mare of even temperament and non-existent intelligence, checked over its shoulder as if to make sure Stehlen was not there.
“It’s okay,” said Wichtig, patting its neck. “We left the horrid wench back in Neidrig.”
He glanced over his own shoulder to make sure she wasn’t lurking nearby. He saw nothing of the ugly thief, but her Kleptic talents being what they were, he wouldn’t. It was a little odd that she hadn’t been around when Bedeckt sent him riding for Selbsthass. Were they finally cutting themselves loose of the murderous bitch? A glow of warmth touched Wichtig’s heart at the thought Bedeckt needed him for his plan—whatever it was—but not Stehlen. That would piss her off. The thought of her anger fanned that warm glow into a burning ember of satisfaction. He wished she were here so he could rub her face in it.
“What do you think, horse, should I find her when all this is done?”
The beast’s ear twitched about, searching for the source of the sound.